Panic(74)

The banging was still going, and the muffled cries of “Heather! I know you’re in there. You gonna ignore your own mother?” Even before reaching the door, Heather knew her mom was drunk.

The porch light was on. When she opened the door, her mom was standing with one hand to her eyes, like she was shielding them from the sun. She was a mess. Hair frizzy; shirt so low Heather could see all the wrinkles of her cleavage and the white half-moons where her bikini had prevented a tan; jeans with stains; enormous wedge heels. She was having trouble standing in one place and kept taking miniature steps for balance.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” she slurred. “What are you doing here?”

“Leave.” Heather took a step onto the porch, hugging herself. “You have no right to be here. You have no right to come barging—”

“Right? Right? I got every right.” Her mom took an unsteady step forward, trying to move past her. Heather blocked her, grateful, for once, that she was so big. Krista started shouting, “Lily! Lily Anne! Where are you, baby?”

“Stop it.” Heather tried to grab Krista by the shoulders, but her mom reeled away from her, swatting her hand.

“What’s going on?” Anne had appeared behind them, blinking, wearing an old bathrobe. “Heather? Is everything okay?”

“You.” Krista took two steps forward before Heather could stop her. “You stole my babies.” She was weaving, swaying on her shoes. “You goddamn bitch, I should—”

“Mom, stop!” Heather hugged herself tight, trying to keep her insides together, trying to keep everything from spilling out.

And Anne was saying, “Okay, let’s calm down, let’s everyone calm down.” Hands up, like she was trying to keep Krista at bay.

“I don’t need to calm down—”

“Mom, stop it!”

“Get out of my way—”

“Hold on, just hold on.”

And then a voice from the darkness beyond the porch: “What’s the trouble?” A flashlight clicked on, just as the porch light went off. It swept over all of them in turn, like a pointed finger. Someone emerged from the dark, came heavily up the stairs, as the porch light, in response to his movement, clicked on again. The rest of them were momentarily frozen. Heather had forgotten there was a patrol car parked in the woods. The cop was blinking rapidly, like he’d been sleeping.

“The problem,” Krista said, “is that this woman has my babies. She stole them.”

The cop’s jaw was moving rhythmically, like he was chewing gum. His eyes moved from Krista, to Heather, to Anne, then back again. His jaw hinged left, right. Heather held her breath.

“That your car, ma’am?” he said finally, jerking his head over his shoulder, where Krista’s car was parked.

Krista looked at it. Looked back at him. Something flickered in her eyes. “Yeah, so?”

He kept chewing, watching her. “Legal limit’s .08.”

“I’m not drunk.” Krista’s voice was rising. “I’m as sober as you are.”

“You mind stepping over here for a minute?”

Heather found herself ready to throw her arms around his neck and say thank you. She wanted to explain, but her breath was lodged in her throat.

“I do mind.” Krista sidestepped the cop as he took a step toward her. She nearly stumbled over one of the flowerpots. He reached out and grabbed her elbow. She tried to shake him off.

“Ma’am, please. If you could just walk this way . . .”

“Let go of me.”

Heather watched it in slow motion. There was a swell of noise. Shouting. And Krista was swinging her arm, bringing her fist to the officer’s face. The punch seemed amplified by a thousand: a ringing, hollow noise.

And then time sped forward again and the cop was twisting Krista’s arms behind her as she bucked and writhed like an animal. “You are under arrest for assaulting a police officer—”

“Let go.”

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

She was handcuffed. Heather didn’t know whether to feel relieved or terrified. Maybe both. Krista was still shouting as the cop led her off the porch, toward the squad car—calling up to Lily, screaming about her rights. Then she was in the car and the door closed and there was silence, except for the engine gunning on, the spit of gravel as the cop turned a circle. A sweep of headlights. Then darkness. The porch light had gone off again.

Heather was shaking. When she could finally speak, the only thing she could say was: “I hate her.” Then again: “I hate her.”

“Come on, sweetie.” Anne put her arm around Heather’s shoulders. “Let’s go inside.”

Heather exhaled. She let the anger go with it. They stepped into the house together, into the coolness of the hall, the patterns of shadow and moonlight that already looked familiar. She thought of Krista, raging away in the back of a cop car. Her stomach started to unknot. Now everyone would know the truth: how Krista was, and what Heather and Lily were escaping.

Anne gave Heather a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “You’re going to be okay.”

Heather looked at her. She managed a smile. “I know,” she said.